


Freudian Slip

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two years after graduating from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is still obsessed with Harry Potter. Fed up, his father makes him get therapy. Harry/Draco Romance/Humor.





	Freudian Slip

Freudian slip  
n.

A verbal mistake that is thought to reveal an unconscious belief, thought, or emotion; a slip-up that (according to Sigmund Freud) results from the operation of unconscious wishes.

'''''

Dr. Jing Wu

 

Psychiatrist and Psychoanalyst

Specializing in Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome and Unhealthy Obsessions

Draco Malfoy sighed as he looked at the clear glass door in front of him with the name of some crackpot doctor inscribed on it. He could see a waiting room beyond with posh, comfy chairs and a variety of magazines to please any palate.

But no matter how lush the waiting room was, it was still a waiting room, and it was still a waiting room for a psychiatrist at that.

Draco gritted his teeth. For the record, it was not his idea to be here in the first place.

'''''

Three days earlier…

"So then Potter - stupid git that he is - sees the snitch and does a full back-flip on his broom before heading down to get it. I mean, honestly, does that prat have to show off every chance he gets?"

"Because there's no possible way that Potter was just getting to the snitch as fast as possible?" Lucius Malfoy muttered under his breath. He fingered his orange juice and sighed. Narcissa patted his hand sympathetically.

"Draco darling, why don't we talk about something other than Harry Potter?" she said sweetly. "Have you met any nice young men lately?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really," he said, helping himself to a croissant. "I had lunch with Daniel Darcy on Wednesday. I thought was an alright bloke, but it turns out he's a huge Chudley Cannons fan and actually has Potter's autograph. Really, who the hell would want that self-righteous half-blood's autograph? And of course Daniel had to tell me all about how he got it, and what a swell bloke that Potter chap is and how fit he is and all that. I mean, here I was trying to eat my lunch and Daniel just wouldn't shut up about Potter."

"Mmm, imagine that," Narcissa said, a small smile playing on here lips. Lucius made a growling sort of noise.

"Beanie!" he called out.

With a small pop a House Elf appeared. "Yessir?"

"Can't you bring me something with alcohol in it?" he snapped. Beanie nodded once and disappeared.

"Honestly," Lucius muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat. "Draco, I am trying to enjoy a nice Sunday brunch with you and your mother. I am not interested in talking about Harry Potter. It has been two years since the two of you graduated from Hogwarts. I realize he was rather the focal point of your existence there for seven years, but honestly, aren't you past all this? It's beginning to sound like you're obsessed."

"Obsessed?" Draco scoffed. "Me? Please, Dad. I'm only absolutely mad for him."

"What?" Lucius and Narcissa asked in one voice.

"I said, I'm really very sad for him. He must be ridiculously insecure to have to show off all the time."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance. With another small pop, the House Elf returned, handing Lucius a glass of something clear and bubbly. He took it and sipped.

"Tell us more about Daniel," Lucius said, changing the subject. "He's a nice boy from a good family. I'd like to see you settle down."

"He is lovely. He's got awfully nice hair, jet black and thick," Draco mused. "But he's not really my type. He's too uptight. Always follows the rules, never takes risks. And he doesn't even play Quidditch."

"Whatever happened to Geoffrey?" Narcissa asked. "He was a Quidditch player, and I thought you liked him."

"Reserve Quidditch player, and a Beater at that," Draco sniffed. "You know I prefer Seekers. He had nice eyes, very bright green, but his red hair reminded me too much of a Weasley."

"Hugh?" Lucius asked, swirling his drink in his glass.

"Hugh was a doormat. He let me walk all over him. I like my men to have a backbone." Draco helped himself to a pastry.

"Marcus?" Narcissa quiered.

Draco shrugged. "I liked his glasses. Made him look smart. But he was actually too pure-blooded, if you can imagine. Talked about nothing else. It got old."

"Amir? Jude? Tyrone?" Lucius asked.

"Basil? Wang? Patrick?" Narcissa added.

"Amir was too tall, Jude too short and Tyrone too beefy," Draco said, checking off each point on his fingers. "Basil only wore wizard robes and I've got fond of muggle clothes, Wang was too involved in his studies and Patrick was sort of evil. I like boyfriends who are all righteous and good, so that I can be the evil one."

"Let me get this straight," Lucius drawled. He paused. "So to speak."

"Very funny, Dad," Draco said sourly.

"You are looking for a man who is tall but not too tall, not beefy, who plays Quidditch, wears muggle clothes and takes risks. You want someone who can stand up to you and is righteous and good. And you liked Daniel's black hair, Geoffrey's green eyes, and Marcus' glasses."

Draco thought that over. "Yes, that's about right."

"Draco," Lucius snapped. "Doesn't that description remind you of anyone?"

Draco thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really, no." He grabbed another pastry. "Did I tell you that Potter was on the cover of four magazines this week? Four! Quidditch Enthusiasts, Witch Weekly, Warlock Wonders and -"

"ENOUGH!" Lucius roared, standing up. "You," he said sternly, pointing a finger at his only child, "are obsessed with Harry Potter."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Lucius said firmly. "Draco, you have a problem, and your mother and I want you to get help."

Draco blinked. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"Help," Lucius repeated. "Professional help. You are going to see a doctor and you are going to get over this obsession."

"But…but I don't…" Draco stammered. He turned to his mother. "Mum! You're not going to let Dad make me go are you?"

Narcissa smiled at him sadly. "Sorry sweetie," she said, patting his hand. "But you do seem to harbor an unhealthy fascination with Harry Potter. It's for the best."

"But -"

"No more arguments, son. You will see a doctor and that's final." Lucius stared his son down. "Unless, of course, you'd like to stop living off your inheritance and get a job."

And that explained why Draco was now standing in front of the door to one Dr. Wu's office, about to have his first appointment.

'''''

"Go right on in, Mr. Malfoy. Dr. Wu is expecting you."

Draco walked into a large corner office that was comfortably furnished with a large maple wood desk, a few comfortable looking chairs and a black leather chaise lounge.

"Mr. Malfoy." A pretty woman with long black hair and glasses was standing behind a desk. "A pleasure to see you." She seemed to be hurriedly stuffing something into the bottom drawer of her desk.

Draco ignored this. "The feeling is not mutual," he sneered. "I assure you if it weren't for my parents I wouldn't even be here."

"Your parents are most concerned about you. But perhaps we can talk about it." She gestured to the chaise lounge. "Please lay down."

Draco rolled his eyes and sprawled out on his back on the chaise lounge. Dr. Wu took a seat in a chair next to him, just out of Draco's line of vision.

"So your mother tells me you spend a lot of time talking about Harry Potter," she said simply, and Draco exploded.

"I am not obsessed with Harry Potter! I hate the git. He's so annoying yet hot."

Dr. Wu looked up from her notes. "Sorry?"

"I said he's so annoying and what not. Are you deaf?" Draco sneered.

The doctor chose to ignore her patient's rudeness. "So what happened to make you hate him so much?"

"He wouldn't be my friend! Said I was the wrong sort. He decided to be friends with that ginger tosser Ron Weasley instead!"

"And you were angry…"

"Damn straight I was angry. I thought he was the prettiest boy I'd ever seen!"

The doctor looked up from her notes again. "What was that?"

"I thought that was the pettiest reason to make a scene. You really don't listen very well, do you?"

The doctor made a small 'hmmm' and went back to her notes. "Did you act out in anger towards Mr. Potter?"

Draco smiled evilly. "Did I ever."

"What did you do to him?"

"Well, our very first week I stole his friend's Remembrall, and taunted him with my superior flying skills." Draco made a face. "Of course, that just landed him on the Quidditch team as the youngest seeker in a century," he finished mockingly. "So what if he flies amazingly? He didn't deserve to be seeker. But it was no matter, because next I challenged him to a midnight duel only to report him to the caretaker so he'd get detention. Course he somehow wormed his way out of trouble for that. He's so good at bending the rules, the stupid prat. But that was alright too, I had more ideas. So next I -"

"Actually, I think that will be sufficient," Dr. Wu cut in quickly. "Just one last question. What are your feelings towards Mr. Potter himself?"

"My feelings towards Potter?" Draco repeated mockingly. "I think he's completely fit."

Dr. Wu paused in her writing for a moment. "I'm sorry, I must have heard wrong. You think he's - what?"

"A complete git," Draco supplied. He paused for a moment. "With ridiculous eyes," he added for good measure.

"I see." Dr. Wu scribbled several things on a piece of paper. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. This has been most informative."

Draco scowled and slouched sulkily on the chaise lounge. He checked his watch. The WWN was running a special retelling of Potter's amazing defeat of the Dark Lord in thirty minutes.

Not that he cared or anything.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you familiar with the term Freudian slip?"

"Yes," Draco snapped. "But I fail to see how it has any relevance to my situation."

Dr. Wu regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Alright then. We'll leave that for a later session. In the meantime, I have an assignment for you. Before our next meeting, I would like you to send an owl to Harry Potter."

That got Draco's attention. "What?" Draco gasped, bolting upright in the chaise lounge.

"You are old acquaintances. Just send a simple letter saying hi. That is all."

"But -"

"This is the first step to recovery, Mr. Malfoy. Re-establishing contact." Dr. Wu picked up a date book and flipped through it. "So, I shall be seeing you at the same time next week. Good luck with your letter."

'''''

 

Harry Potter was his London flat that he shared with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, staring into the fridge hoping that something tasty to eat would somehow magically appear. The fridge wasn't listening to him.

Literally.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I will not make you food, you lazy sod," the fridge snapped. "Make your own damn food. You should be happy I'm even willing to keep things cold for you. Ungrateful tosser."

Harry rolled his eyes. It would be just his luck that when he enchanted his muggle appliances so they would work in his magical apartment, he somehow managed to screw things up and animate them as well.

He stood in front of the open fridge a moment longer, idly scratching the thin strip of stomach visible between his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, when Hermione came into the room.

"Morning, Harry," she said, hopping into one of the stools at their breakfast bar. "How's the fridge today?"

"Being a wanker like usual," Harry said, shutting the door and reaching for a loaf of bread.

"Ooooh, an insult!" the fridge mocked. "The Great Harry Potter has insulted me! Oh woe and suffering! How will I ever survive?"

Harry's fingers itched for his wand, but he resisted. The problem with magical things with personalities is that it felt wrong to terminate them somehow. Not that he wasn't often sorely tempted.

"Toast?" he asked Hermione, who had opened the copy of the Daily Prophet and was reading the headlines.

"Yes please," she said, flipping the paper over to work on the crossroad puzzle. Harry pulled out two slices of bread and walked over to the toaster.

"Now Toaster," he said, his voice soothing. "I have two slices of bread here. Would you mind terribly -"

"Oh the HUMANITY!" the toaster cried out. "WHY? Why are you so CRUEL? Why do you ask me to TORMENT the innocent BREAD?"

"But the bread isn't alive! It won't feel a thing! Can't you just -"

"So CALLOUS you are. So CRUEL. Can't you be satisfied with EATING it? Ripping it into shreds with your TEETH? Why must you TORTURE it first?"

Harry massaged his temples at his impending headache. "Really, it's just -"

"Oh it's just NOTHING to YOU. You don't FEEL the PAIN! But I do! I feel the bread's pain like my own, and - "

Harry promptly jammed the two slices of bread into the toaster and pressed the lever down.

"NOOOOOOO!" the toaster sobbed. "WHY GOD?"

"There is entirely too much drama involved in making breakfast in this house," Harry commented, as he watched the slices toast.

"Mmm-hmm," Hermione agreed, tapping her quill against her mouth. "Do you know a six-letter word for light blonde hair?"

"Flaxen," Harry replied promptly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but began writing. "Thanks Harry," was all she said.

Ron chose that moment to stroll into the room. "Morning," he said. Like Harry, he was still in his pajamas. He walked over to the fridge. "How's the fridge today?"

"Don't bloody talk about me like I'm not here," the fridge snarled. "Stupid ginger oaf."

"In top form, he is," Ron muttered, opening the fridge. After making a face at its empty contents, he shut the door and looked longingly at the toasting bread.

"No way," Harry said quickly. "You want toast you make your own. I'm not fighting with the toaster again."

Ron sighed and reached into the cupboard, pulling out a box of cereal which he began to eat straight from the box.

"So where's Meredith?" he asked Harry pointedly. "You had a date with her last night. I thought she would have stayed over."

Harry shrugged. "I broke things off with her, actually. She just wasn't right for me."

"I could have told you that," Hermione muttered. "Why'd you date her in the first place?"

"She had beautiful grey eyes," Harry admitted. "But she was just…I dunno, too much of a good girl, I think."

"A good girl?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, too sweet and innocent."

"What's wrong with sweet and innocent?"

"Nothing, I just find it boring," Harry admitted. "I like my dates a little bit wicked."

"You would," Ron said, making a face.

"So why'd you break up with Takami then? She was as bad as they come," Hermione asked.

"Oh yeah, she was. It was hot. But she wasn't witty at all, never said anything funny."

Ron cocked his head to the side. "What about Marco? Marco was witty."

"Marco was impressed with my fame and shit. I don't want to date a fan."

"Oliver?" Hermione pressed.

Harry shook his head. "I like my partners to like Quidditch, but it's still my job, you know? I don't want to talk about playing Quidditch every minute of the day, and Oliver was obsessed with it. He couldn't get it up unless we were listening to a Quidditch game on the WWN."

Ron and Hermione both snorted in amusement.

"Gwyneth?"

"Most beautiful hair ever," Harry said with a sigh. "That pretty white-blonde color and so soft. But she was too polite. I like partners who are feisty and maybe even a little mouthy."

"Philippe was mouthy. He was a complete prat."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "But he had no class. I'm a slob who wears jeans everyday; I'm not looking for the same. I like my guys to dress nice. I don't even mind a little snottiness now and then. It's kind of cute."

Ron looked thoughtful. "So your ideal partner would be a bit wicked and witty, but not impressed by your fame. They'd like Quidditch but not obsess over it, dress nice, and be mouthy and maybe even a little snotty. You have the weirdest taste ever." He snorted. "Oh, and it'd be great if they had white-blonde hair and grey eyes because you think both of those are hot."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Yeah, that sounds perfect," he said. "Find me that person and I'll live happily ever after."

Ron just shook his head. Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

"Um, Harry?" she ventured. "Doesn't that description remind you of someone we knew at school?"

"No. Who?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Yeah, who?" Ron echoed.

"Um…" Hermione hesitated, then smiled weakly. "No one. Absolutely no one. Never mind." She turned back to her paper.

Harry would have pressed it, but at that moment there was a knock on the window.

"Oh look, an owl," Harry said, going to open the window. The elegant eagle owl flew in and dropped a letter on the counter before flying off again.

Ron leaned over to look. "It's for you Harry," he said, popping another handful of cereal in his mouth. "Probably more fan mail."

Harry curiously picked up the envelope. It was deep green with silver writing. The front merely said "Potter" with his address, and it was sealed with a big "M."

"Slytherin colors," he commented, sliding open the envelope. He unfolded the letter and read:

Potter:

Hi.

Malfoy

Harry blinked.

"What's it say?" Hermione asked.

"Potter: Hi. Malfoy," Harry read. He paused. "That's an odd letter."

"What? Let me see that," Ron said, grabbing the letter out of Harry's hands. He looked at it closely. "That is odd. Do you reckon it's from the ferret?"

"Let me see," Hermione said, standing up. She took the letter. "Hmmm." She looked at it more closely and shrugged. "Looks like Malfoy wants to say hi."

"But…but why?" Harry said, puzzled. "I mean, I haven't spoken to him since we left Hogwarts two years ago. I went on the play for the Canons, and last I heard he was just mooching off his parents and doing a whole lot of nothing. Why would that fine piece of work write to me?"

Ron and Hermione both snapped their heads up to look at him.

"What did you say?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I said, why would that whiny little berk write to me?" Harry repeated, slightly impatiently. Ron looked relieved while Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure I don't know," she said, handing back the letter. "But you should write him back."

"Write him back?" Ron said, scandalized. "Don't do it, Harry. It's Malfoy. He's an evil ferret."

"Ron, we haven't seen him in two years. Surely we can all put our school rivalries behind us," Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh. "Write him back Harry."

So Harry did.

'''''''

 

Draco was about to leave for his second session with Dr. Wu when a rapping noise sounded at his bedroom window. He walked over to it and slid it open, and a gorgeous snowy owl flew into his room.

Draco peered closely. "Hedwig?" he asked, stunned. He'd recognize Potter's beautiful owl anywhere.

Hedwig gave an important sort of hoot and held out her leg. Feeling sort of surreal, he reached down and unfastened the letter. He gave Hedwig an owl treat and absently stroked her feathers for a moment. She hooted again and flew off, leaving Draco with a burgundy envelope addressed in gold ink.

Draco Malfoy

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

 

The envelope was unsealed. Draco carefully opened it and read the contents:

Malfoy:

Hello.

HP

And a grin split his face before he could stop it.

''''''''''''''

 

"He wrote me back," Draco informed Dr. Wu later that afternoon, waving the letter around. "He's not an obsession, he's an acquaintance. Can I go now?"

Dr. Wu sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, we have only just begun your treatment. But I am pleased you made contact. We can now move on to the next step."

"Which is…?" Draco asked.

"The Chudley Canons will be playing the Montrose Magpies on Saturday. I would like you to attend that game and watch Mr. Potter play."

"What?" Draco gasped, outraged. "I will not. I will not go to a game and watch that sexy hunk play Quidditch."

"Sorry?"

"I won't go to a game and watch that cocky punk play Quidditch," Draco snapped. "Last thing he needs is another fan at the game."

"You will not be going as a fan, Mr. Malfoy. You will be going as a patient. I'm afraid I must insist upon it. You are of course, free to decline, but your father would be most upset to hear that you have chosen not to go through with your therapy."

"Oh bugger all," said Draco, resigning himself to a Saturday from hell.

'''''''

 

"And Harry Potter sees the snitch…he's diving for it….he's going after it folks…he has GOT IT! Harry Potter has caught the snitch! The Canons win again, 230-80!"

"Bloody brilliant," Draco muttered under his breath, sinking down in his chair in the private viewing booth he had paid for. He wasn't going to show his face to anyone; he didn't want a soul to know he was at a Canons game and had just watched Harry fucking Potter play Quidditch.

And he most certainly didn't want a soul to know he turned on he was as a result.

He'd forgotten how much he loved watching Potter play. The boy was a natural on a broom. His hair looked good windswept, his cheeks turned pink in the wind, and he rode the broom with a grace and control that did funny things to Draco's stomach.

Quickly pushing those unwanted thoughts from his brain, he leaned down and reached into the bag he'd brought with him. The second part of this exercise was to write Potter another letter after the game - an honest letter about Potter's Quidditch skills. With a sigh he began.

Potter:

Was at your match today. You were pretty good. Nice Wronski Feint in the middle there. But don't let it go to your head.

Malfoy

There, that should do. He folded the letter and stuck it in an envelope and sealed it with the Malfoy seal. He'd send it as soon as he got home.

''''''

 

"This gets more and more bizarre," Harry said, putting the letter on the counter for Ron and Hermione to read. "What's he trying to pull?"

Hermione regarded the letter thoughtfully. "Sounds like he's complimenting you on your Quidditch skills."

"I know that's what it sounds like," Harry said, sounding peeved. "But this is a letter from Malfoy. There's no way he's actually complimenting me. What is he trying to do?"

"It sounds like twu wuv to me," the stove chirped. "He's wooing you Harry; wooing you with compliments and lusty words. Roses will be next, mark my words!" The stove gave a happy sigh. "What does Ronald think about all this?" it cooed.

Harry started massaging his temples again. The stove was an incurable romantic with absolutely no concept of how love really worked and a crush on Ron.

"Er, I'm with Harry. Something fishy is going on here," Ron said, a little uncomfortably. "I mean, this is Malfoy. Who knows what sinister plans are lurking in his evil, ferrety mind?"

"Oh, just write him back again Harry," Hermione said impatiently, shoving the letter back at Harry.

"But…but what if he -"

"Am I ever wrong?" Hermione asked, and shooting her a dirty look Harry went to write a reply.

'''''

Malfoy:

Thank you. You're sort of freaking me out here. Do you have some kind of ulterior motive?

HP

"I most certainly do!" Draco said indignantly to Dr. Wu, showing her the letter. "I've been forced to do these things! Forced to write to him! Forced to go to his game! I'm not doing it by choice!"

Dr. Wu merely smiled. "Would you like the chance to tell Mr. Potter that?"

"YES, damn it, I would," Draco seethed.

Dr. Wu nodded. "Wonderful. Invite him to meet you at the Three Broomsticks for lunch on Thursday and you can explain it in person."

"Wha…but…NO! I don't want to ask him OUT!"

"You're not asking him out. You're merely giving yourself a chance to explain why you've made contact with him. It's just lunch."

Draco glared at him. "You're an evil doctor."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

'''''''

Potter:

I'll explain what's going on if you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron Thursday at noon. I'm buying.

Malfoy

Harry peered at the letter closely. "D'you think he's going to try to kill me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "NO, Harry. He wouldn't try in such a public place. Wait for the invitation to the dark alleyway behind the old abandoned warehouse down by the docks before you suspect him of murder."

"I don't like this," Ron said suspiciously. "It sounds like he's asking you on a date. Why would he do something like this?"

"I dunno," Harry said, more confused then ever. "Should I go?"

"YES," Hermione said, at the same moment Ron said "NO."

"Oh for the love of God, just go, would you Potter? Quit whinging about it," the fridge snapped. "Then turn your attention to more important things, like buying groceries. I'm not standing here for my health, you know."

Harry shrugged. "Well, that's two against one. Guess I'll go then."

''''''

 

Draco sat nervously in his booth at the back of the Leaky Cauldron, sipping on his juice. He had taken the liberty of ordering pumpkin juice and a basket of chips to start with. He checked his watch: 11:58am. He fidgeted slightly. Merlin, why was he so nervous?

 

At 12:01, just when Draco was contemplating bolting because Harry was late, the door to the pub swung open and in walked a vision in baggy jeans and a well-fitting bright orange t-shirt.

Draco swallowed hard.

The shirt was hideous; no one could argue that. A bright orange Chudley Canons shirt would look good on absolutely nobody…

…except Potter.

Somehow the hideous orange only set off his jet-black hair and his bright green eyes, and it clung perfectly to Harry's flat abs and toned biceps. Draco could suddenly appreciate that it had been two years since they'd left Hogwarts. Two years since he'd seen Potter up close, and the past two years of playing professional Quidditch had been very, very good for Potter.

 

Potter scanned the restaurant, and Draco gave a small, tentative wave. Harry's gaze rested on him, and Draco was pleased to note the surprised widening of his eyes as he took in Draco's appearance.

Harry wasn't the only one to grow up over the last couple years.

Harry quickly shook off his surprised expression and made his way towards Draco's booth in the back of the pub.

"Hi," he said uncertainly, looking down at Draco.

"Hello," Draco said back. There was a moment's pause, then Draco motioned to the seat. "You can sit down if you want."

Harry watched him warily as he slid into the seat across from him.

There was another uncomfortable pause, then Draco lifted the basket of chips off the table.

"Chips?" he said, holding it out towards Harry.

Harry cautiously took a chip out of the basket and, watching Draco the whole time, popped it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment then swallowed, still watching Draco suspiciously.

Draco couldn't help it. He smirked maliciously. "You've fallen into my trap, idiotic Gryffindor," he said wickedly. "The chips were poisoned with a prick-shrinking potion, and soon your willy will be the size of a twig."

Harry's eyes flew open in horror and he looked like he might be sick. "Malfoy, you evil little shit! I'll fucking kill you for this!"

Draco burst out laughing. "I'm sorry Potter, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. You were watching me as if you suspected me of some dastardly scheme, and I hated to let you down by offering you plain old chips."

Harry stared at him. "You were joking?" he asked, eyes narrowed and body tense.

"Absolutely. Only thing dodgy on those chips is vinegar."

At this, Harry's body relaxed and he slumped in relief against the back of the booth. "Thank God! Oh, you don't even want to know what I would have done to you if you'd been serious."

Draco's prank had broken the ice, however, and both boys were much more at ease now. A waiter came by and took their order.

"Did you really just order a cosmopolitan at the Leaky Cauldron, Malfoy?" Harry asked when the waiter left, shaking his head in amusement. "Why don't you spare yourself the trouble and just hang a big neon sign that reads Nancy Boy on your forehead?"

Draco was surprised. "You know I'm gay?"

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Malfoy, I'm pretty sure Hedwig knows you're gay."

"Ha ha, Potter," Draco said, narrowing his eyes. "At least I can pick a gender. The Prophet's had a field day with your exploits. Apparently you'll sleep with anything in a skirt, pants, tie, Quidditch uniform or dress, as long as it's got two legs."

"Not true," Harry objected. "I slept with a Centaur once. He had four legs."

Draco stared.

This time it was Harry who burst out laughing. "I was joking, you prat."

Draco cracked a smile. "Wanker," he said, taking his glass from the waiter as he arrived with their drinks.

"Had to get you back for the chips thing," Harry said, smiling. "And handsome as some centaurs may be, I'm not even sure I can fathom how one goes about having sex with them."

"It's not that complicated, really," the waiter said, refilling Harry's glass of pumpkin juice. "One just needs to be a little flexible. It's well worth the effort, too. Centaurs have quite amazing stamina."

Harry and Draco gaped at him.

"Er…sorry. Back to the kitchen I go," said the waiter sheepishly, scurrying off.

Draco shook his head and took a sip of his drink. "Nice shirt Potter," he said sardonically.

Harry looked down at his neon orange Chudley Canons shirt. "What?" he asked. "I play for them now; I ought to wear their clothes. Plus it's soft."

Draco half amused by the soft comment, and half annoyed with himself that Potter was wearing an orange shirt and Draco still thought he looked hot.

He decided to stick with the soft remark. "So you like soft things, do you?" he asked, and Harry shrugged.

"Course I do," he said. "I like how they feel against my skin."

Draco couldn't help but run a hand through his hair at that. He knew he had exceptionally soft and silky hair, and over the past year he'd grown it out and stopped gelling it back. He briefly wondered if Potter would like how his hair felt against his skin.

Draco looked up to find Potter watching him raptly. "What?" he said defensively, and Harry had the grace to blush.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just…you look a little different than I remember."

"So do you," Draco retorted. "Did you grow half a foot or what?"

Harry looked amused. "Well you look different too. Not any taller, but you're not so scrawny now."

"Gee. Thanks," Draco said sarcastically.

"No, I didn't mean -" Harry reddened again. "You look good, that's all," he finally said, staring into his juice. "And I like your hair," he added, almost reluctantly.

Draco preened. "Well, it is gorgeous hair. And it's very soft, you know." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "Want to touch it?" he asked coyly, leaning forward. "You said you liked how soft things feel against your skin."

Harry was eagerly stretching out a hand to touch Draco's hair. Draco closed his eyes in anticipation - he loved having his hair petted and played with - only to be rudely interrupted.

"Here's your fish and mushy peas, boys, and another basket of chips," the waiter said cheerfully. "Can I get you lads anything else? Tea? Coffee? Centaur porn?"

"WHAT?"

"Cream horn. I meant cream horn," the waiter said, and took his leave.

"Odd fellow, that one," Draco commented, annoyed that he hadn't gotten his petting. The food looked good though, and he and Harry dug in.

They ate in silence for a while before Harry sprung the question.

"So why'd you start writing me out of the blue?" Harry asked, eating the last bites of his fried fish.

Draco's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. He'd been honestly enjoying himself and had temporarily forgotten the point of this lunch. "Oh, that. Well because…because…Imintherapy," he muttered to his mushy peas.

"Sorry, what?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Therapy, Potter. I'm in therapy, and my doctor made me write to you." There, it was out. Draco's cheeks felt pink and hot, but he bravely waited in anticipation of Harry's mocking laughter.

To his great surprise, Harry just shrugged. "Alright then," he said simply. He stared at Draco's half-eaten plate. "Say, are you going to eat your other piece of fish?"

Draco blinked in surprise. "You're not going to take the piss out of me for seeing a shrink?"

"God no," Harry said, looking surprised that Draco would even suggest such a thing. "I had to go through a year and a half of therapy when the war was finally over. Having a Dark Lord trying to kill you since age eleven really screws with your mind, let me tell you."

He paused. "You didn't answer me about the fish," he needled.

Draco pushed his plate across the table, and Harry happily dug in.

"Hungry?" he asked, relieved that Harry was unfazed by the therapy thing.

"Starved," was Harry's reply, as he continued to enjoy Draco's fish. "Been having a few problems in the kitchen lately."

"Oh? Like what? Spells gone wrong, that sort of thing?"

"Er…something like that," Harry said evasively.

Draco watched Harry eat for a moment more before licking his lips nervously. There was another part to his therapy, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?" Harry said through a mouthful of fish.

"Um…so…right, so I'm in therapy…you know this, I just told you…and…and well…my therapist wants me to spend more time with you," he blurted out quickly. "So could we maybe…you know…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Hrph ra srecnd rate?"

Draco furrowed his brow. "What?"

Harry swallowed. "Have a second date?"

To his utmost horror, Draco felt the tiniest tinge of pink heating up his cheeks. "Well, I don't know if I'd call it a date but…yeah…I guess…sort of…" he trailed off, feeling his cheeks heat up even more at the thought that Harry considered this lunch a "date."

Harry took a long drink of pumpkin juice before setting the glass down and looking at Draco appraisingly. "Alright," he finally said.

"Alright?" Draco repeated, heart leaping. "You'll do it?"

Harry shrugged. "If it's part of your therapy, sure. So, do you want to…I don't know…maybe come over this weekend?"

"Come over? Like, to your flat?"

"Um, yes. That generally is where people are talking about when they invite you over." Harry looked amused.

Draco was surprised. He hadn't expected Potter to be so nice, or so accommodating. So the question was, did he want to go over to Potter's place? Actually enter the abode of the Great Harry Potter?

He sort of did.

"Yeah sure," Draco replied, smiling tentatively at Harry. "What time?"

"Let's say seven on Saturday. And I may regret this, but how about I make you dinner? Or try to make you dinner, at any rate."

"Try to? What, not much of a cook?"

"It's not that. I'm actually quite a good cook. Just come over this weekend and we'll see how it goes."

''''''

 

"Oh, this is so romantic," the stove sighed, as Harry frantically stirred the Alfredo sauce before it could burn. "Shall I turn the burners up higher for you, Harry love?"

"No, thank you," Harry said politely. "They're quite high enough as it is. A little lower would be good, actually."

"But the thought of you making dinner for your little blonde cupcake makes me simmer," the stove cooed dreamily. "I just can't seem to turn them down."

Harry shook his head. "Fine, just…try not to let it burn, alright?"

He leaned down to look at the garlic bread in the oven, bracing himself when he opened the door.

"OH GOD!" it screamed. "THEY'RE AFTER ME! It's a CONSPIRACY, but I told them NOTHING! NOTHING, do you hear?"

"Shh, it's alright, nobody's after you," Harry said soothingly. He was aware that he was trying to comfort his paranoid oven and probably sounded ridiculous, but there it was.

"Malfoy is coming to our flat," Ron said, voice flat with dread. "Draco "The Ferret" Malfoy is coming to our flat because Harry invited him."

"Ron, really. Malfoy is in therapy and Harry is helping him. We should be supportive," Hermione chided, watching Harry pull a foil-wrapped loaf of bread from the sobbing oven.

"No, we should be offering to put Harry back into therapy," Ron said. "Because he willingly invited Malfoy into our flat and now he's making the ferret dinner." He looked sulky. "You never make me dinner."

Harry gave him a withering look as he set the bread on the counter and charmed it to stay warm. "You live here, prat. I'm only willing to fight with the appliances for guests."

"I get no love," Ron said, sighing loudly.

"I'll take you out," Hermione said placatingly. "We can go to that curry house you like."

"No," Ron said sullenly. "My best friend is making Fettuccini Alfredo for my worst enemy. I need comfort food."

"Fine. We'll visit your mother," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Harry behind Ron's back.

Ron perked up. "Alright," he said happily. "Oooh, maybe the twins or Ginny will be there and we can complain about what a git Malfoy is and how Harry's finally gone round the twist for having him over."

"Sounds lovely," Hermione said, winking at Harry. She gave Ron a little shove. "Let's go. Have a nice evening, Harry," she said, as she and Ron left the kitchen.

Harry took a deep breath and surveyed the dinner. Everything looked just about ready for a meal of homemade Fettuccini Alfredo, tossed salad and garlic bread. Nothing too fancy, but hopefully Malfoy wouldn't laugh in his face either.

Not that he cared if Malfoy laughed in his face. It wasn't like he was trying to…impress Malfoy or anything. He only tried to impress the dates he wanted to shag. And he definitely didn't want to shag Malfoy. No way, no how. No matter how good the ex-Slytherin had looked in that tight grey jumper. Or the way his blonde hair fell so perfectly around his face. Or the way his nose had kind of wrinkled in a cute way when he laughed or the way he made those funny, snarky comments or -

A sneer interrupted Harry's thoughts.

"Oh isn't this special," the fridge said scornfully. "A lavish, homemade Italian dinner. Having another floozy over to impress with tales of your heroics? Or is it a well-dressed young man who will simper over your Quidditch skills? News flash, Potter: they only want you because you're famous."

Harry closed his eyes and began to rub his temples again.

'''''''

"Hi Malfoy, come on in," Harry said, in his best polite host voice, opening the door to let Draco in.

"Thanks," Draco said, unable to refrain from looking around curiously as he strode into Harry's flat. It was nice. Not Malfoy-nice, but it was clean and the furniture all matched and looked fairly new.

He held out a bouquet of flowers for Harry. "These are for you."

Harry looked amused. "You brought me flowers? That's so…masculine."

Draco gave him a haughty look. "It's impolite to go over to someone's house without a present. Besides, you said you live with the Weasel and Granger. Give them to her."

Harry shrugged and took the flowers. "Alright. Can I take your coat?"

"That'd be lovely," Draco said, still rather haughty. He handed Harry his black, full-length coat. As Harry turned to hang it in the coat closet, Draco took a minute to study his appearance. No Chudley Cannons shirt this time. Instead, Harry was wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a white oxford shirt with a black sweater over it. The clothes fit Harry's toned body perfectly, and Draco was impressed despite himself.

"You know, seeing you in such nice clothes makes me kind of horny," Draco said admiringly.

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, spinning back around and looking surprised.

Draco's eyes widened slightly as he realized what he'd said. "Um…I said watch out for the roses. They're kind of thorny." He punctuated this with a winning smile.

Harry looked at the flowers. "These are lilies."

Draco snapped his fingers. "Right. So they are. What's for dinner?"

"Fettuccini Alfredo. I hope that's alright."

"Sounds good. Lead the way."

Draco followed Harry through the sitting room into the kitchen.

"The food's all on the table already," Harry explained. "I'm just grabbing drinks. Pumpkin juice alright with you?"

"Its fine," Draco said distractedly, eyes darting all around the room. "Potter, is this a muggle kitchen?"

"Half and half," Harry said cagily. He was reaching into a cabinet and pulling down to glasses. "Why don't you go wait in the dining room? I'll be right in with the juice."

Draco wasn't listening. His attention was completely absorbed by a large, boxy-looking thing with handles against one wall.

"What on earth is this thing?"

Harry whirled around. "Oy, Malfoy, you may not want to get too close - "

The fridge stirred to life as Draco investigated a magnet stuck to its outside.

"Oh great," it sneered. "Another blonde. Honestly Potter, why do you do this to me? I hate blondes; they're dumb as dirt. Besides, I think this one is fake."

"WHAT?" Draco gasped, outraged beyond belief. "Who are you calling a fake blonde, you loudmouthed piece of…well, whatever you are. I am 100 percent natural, thank you very much. You're just jealous."

"Oh. Right. I'm jealous," the fridge scoffed. "Wish my hair was blonde. OH WAIT. I don't have hair. Honestly." The fridge made an irritated clucking noise. "Seriously Potter, get your whiny bottle-blonde brat of a boyfriend out of here. He's annoying."

Harry looked angry. "Now you listen here, Fridge," he said in an authoritative I'm-Harry-Fucking-Potter-So-Don't-Give-Me-Any-Shit voice that sent shivers down Draco's spine. "I won't have you insulting my guests. Apologize to Malfoy."

"Do you want an apology, or do you want your eggs to stay fresh?" the fridge said haughtily. "I can let the milk spoil too. The choice is yours, Potter."

"You leave them alone." A stern but rather high-pitched and bubbly voice piped up from the other side of the kitchen. "Don't go bothering Harry when he's got a date."

The refrigerator gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, of course, the sentimental stove wants in on the conversation. Getting your jollies off of Potter's latest conquest, are you?"

"Don't talk to the stove like that!" the toaster snapped. "I don't want to see anyone SUFFER!"

"SUFFER? Oh God, is that a THREAT?!" the oven screamed. "They're coming for me, AREN'T THEY? NOOOOOO!! I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!!!"

The appliances all started to talk or yell or sulk or snap at once. Draco began to slowly back up, eyes wide.

Suddenly, a strong hand was gripping his wrist and a low voice was whispering in his ear.

"Dining room," Harry hissed. "Now. Move quietly."

Draco nodded, and he and Harry slowly tiptoed out of the kitchen.

''''''

 

As soon as they were in the dining hall, Harry shut the door.

"Whew," he said, as the noises from the kitchen were drowned out. "That was close."

"Potter, what the hell is wrong with everything in that room?" Draco demanded.

"Well, I did say I'd been having a few problems in the kitchen lately."

"I thought you meant you'd blown up a casserole or something! Not that everything in your kitchen is completely barking mad! You actually made dinner with those things?"

Harry pointed to the spread on the table. "I did. And it turned out fine. Now can I dish you some pasta?"

Draco paused in his rant and glared at Harry. Then he looked at the food.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed grudgingly. "It does look pretty good."

Harry dished up everything and soon they were eating in a fairly amicable silence. After a bit Draco remembered that he was supposed to be talking with Harry as part of his therapy, so he cleared his throat.

"So…uh…how have you been doing anyway, Potter?"

Harry swallowed his mouthful of salad. "Well, now that you're here I'm awfully randy."

"WHAT?"

"Um…I mean…I'm doing just fine and dandy," Harry said, not meeting Draco's eyes. He quickly reached for the pasta.

Draco furrowed his brow. Had Harry just said…?

He shook his head to clear it of that silly thought.

"How about yourself? How are you doing?" Harry asked politely.

"Great, although I'd love to kiss you," Draco said, and then bit his lip.

Harry jerked his head up from where he was dishing more pasta.

"Sorry - what?"

"Great, although I've missed you," Draco quickly blurted.

"Oh." Harry was looking at him suspiciously. "Well, um…I guess I've missed you too."

Draco smiled weakly. "Can I have more pasta?"

Harry nodded and began dishing more Fettuccini Alfredo onto Draco's plate.

"So…who's the lucky lad or lady this week in the Great Harry Potter's love life?" Draco said, taking his plate back and trying to change the subject.

Harry took a thoughtful bite. "No one right now. But if I had my way, you're the one I'd like to snog."

Draco nearly choked. "WHAT?"

Harry looked panicked. "I mean - you're a hog. Um…ing. Hogging. Um…the pasta. Right! You're hogging the pasta. Yes." Harry quickly averted his eyes and picked up his pumpkin juice again.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You just dished out my pasta for me."

"So I did." Harry still wasn't looking at him.

Draco began to eat again, very slowly. The silence between them was now a bit tense.

Harry cleared his throat. "Can I get you anything else?"

Draco licked his lips. "How about a one-way ticket to your bed?"

This time Harry almost choked. "I'm sorry - what?"

Shit, I didn't mean to say that, Draco thought, panicked. "Uh…could you pass me some garlic bread?" he said, a little too sweetly, pointing at the buttery, steaming hot bread.

"Oh. Right. Right. Sure."

Harry quickly passed the loaf towards Draco, and then jumped to his feet.

"Ready for dessert?" he said in a would-be casual voice.

Draco nodded, and then watched as Harry rummaged around in a bag on the floor and pulled out two bars of Honeyduke's best chocolate. He tossed one to Draco. "Here you are."

Draco caught the bar and looked at it with a raised eyebrow. "Homemade Fettuccini Alfredo for dinner and your grand finale is a bar of chocolate?"

Harry looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I was going to make a chocolate torte for dessert, but …you see, our mixer and our blender have been together for three weeks, and the blender was just discovered having a torrid affair with the microwave. The mixer is devastated and inconsolable, so now we just sort of avoid doing any mixing."

"You're mad, Potter," Draco said, a sort of awe in his voice. "Absolutely mad."

Harry shrugged. "I must be. I had you over, didn't I? Of course, you are rather stunning."

Draco froze, chocolate half-way to his mouth. "You just said I'm stunning," he said, shocked.

Harry's widened, but he immediately shook his head. "I didn't," he denied. "I said cunning."

"No, you said stunning. You think I'm stunning." Draco smirked triumphantly. "Well, well, well," he said mockingly, to Harry's horrified face. "The Famous Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy is stunning. That's something for the papers. But you can just keep dreaming, Potter. You don't get a piece of this bad boy just because you'd be a great shag."

As soon as he said the words, Draco clapped a hand over his mouth in horror. Harry stared incredulously at him.

"Did you just say I'd be a great shag?"

"What? No, of course not. Don't be silly."

"I think you did. I think you said I'd be a great shag."

"I didn't. I said you're a total hag."

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." Draco made a scoffing noise. "Like I think you'd be a great shag. Please. I mean, I do think you're hot - damn it, I mean a sot, a stupid sot!."

"HA!" Harry pointed at him. "I told you! You think I'm hot! You want to shag me!"

"I don't!" Draco said, panicked. How did Harry suddenly switch things around on him? "You're the one who thinks I'm stunning!"

"So? You think I'm hot and you want to shag me!" Harry said triumphantly. "Well too bad for you, because it's never going to happen. Just because I'd love to hear you call me Daddy - wait no, I meant I need to get your…um…addy, you know, your address -"

"A HA!" Draco said, jumping to his feet. "You've already sent me Owl Post! You already know my address! You want to hear me call you Daddy because you're the one who wants to shag me!"

"No I don't!" Harry said wildly, jumping to his feet as well. "Look, all I said was that I wanted to score…no wait, I meant I'd love to give you a right good what-for…oh bollocks, that is definitely not what I meant either -"

"Now who wants to shag who, eh Potter?" Draco said victoriously, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward aggressively. "And you're a pervert about it too. At least I just want to shag you while you're tied up tight - shit, I mean I want to ride you all night - wait no, not that either -"

"Pot calling the kettle black much?" Harry spat back, mirroring Draco's position. "Who's the pervert now?"

Harry and Draco were both leaning forward over the small table; their faces inches apart as they shouted at each other and their slips became more and more ridiculous.

"You're the pervert!" Draco said forcefully. "Just because I think you'd be a great top - oh fuck no, I meant a total flop -"

"Think I'd make a great top, do you?" Harry said with relish. "Well I think you've got a hot arse - wait no, no! I meant…um…larce! Yes, larce! Like…larceny! You know, larceny, like does your daddy know he raised a thief because baby you've just stolen my breath away - oh shit, I did not just say that -"

"Just admit you want me, Potter," Draco sneered, hands on the table for balance and leaning in even closer. "Admit you want me and I'll admit you have a really hot body - wait, I mean that you're just really shoddy -"

"That doesn't make any sense, you fuckwit! You think you can say whatever you want just because you've got that gorgeous hair - no wait, because you've got an evil stare -"

"An evil stare?" Draco repeated scornfully. "That's the best you can do? Just admit it. You want to shag me. You're gagging for it. You WANT me."

"No!" Harry said desperately.

"YES!"

"NO!!!"

"YES!!! ADMIT IT POTTER! YOU WANT ME! YOU. WANT. ME. HARRY POTTER WANTS TO SHAG DRACO MALFOY! YOU WANT TO SHAG ME AND YOU SHOULD JUST ADMIT IT!!!"

"FINE!" Harry bellowed. "I ADMIT IT! YOU'RE HOT AND I WANT YOU AND I'M GOING TO SHAG YOU RIGHT HERE ON THIS TABLE!"

"Ha HA!" Draco crowed triumphantly. "I told you you want me! You just admitted that you want me and - wait, what did you just say?"

It was too late. Harry had reached out and grabbed the back of Draco's head with one hand and leaned forward to plant a hard, wet kiss right on Draco's lips.

"Mmrph!" Draco gasped, unwittingly opening his mouth. And then Harry's tongue was in his mouth, battling with his own tongue, and Harry Potter was kissing Draco Malfoy so hard it was taking Draco's breath away.

And suddenly it didn't matter who wanted who or who had made what ridiculous Freudian slip because Draco wanted Harry, and he wanted to shag Harry, and at that moment he would have admitted it to anyone straight up that what he wanted was Potter on a silver platter, or naked and tied to the bedpost, whichever was faster.

In an instant he had reached out and sunk both his hands into Harry's thick, messy locks.

"You want me so bad," he moaned against Harry's mouth, tugging hard on Harry's hair.

"Too fucking right I do," Harry growled. With his free hand he reached down and swiped, sending all the dishes flying off the table with a loud crash. Draco immediately put his knee onto the table and climbed on.

Harry wasted no time climbing on the table as well, and the boys kissed each other fiercely as they began trying to wrestle each other down to the surface of the table.

Harry, being slightly bigger and in better shape from Quidditch, quickly won the wrestling match and had Draco pinned on his back in under a minute.

"Gotcha!" he said triumphantly, as Draco squirmed on the table beneath him. "Now what should I do with you?"

Draco reached up and grabbed the front of Harry's shirt. With a hard tug, he yanked Harry's face down to his own.

"You should kiss me," he said breathlessly, lips only inches from Harry's. "You should kiss me and then you should touch me and then you should shag me until I can't see straight and the table collapses under us and then we should move to your bed so you can do it again."

Harry shuddered above him. "You are so unbelievably hot, Draco." Then his eyes went wide. "Wait, I didn't mean to say Draco, I meant to say -"

"Yes you did, Harry," Draco said, eyes glinting mischievously. "From now on, what do you say we both say what we mean and leave the Freudian slips to the doctors?"

"Brilliant," Harry said with a smile, and they began to kiss again.

'''''''''

Dear Dr. Wu,

I just thought you might like to know that your therapy was a great success. Harry Potter and I are now an item. Thanks for your help. Send the bill to my dad.

Draco Malfoy

Dr. Wu smiled as she read the letter in her hand. She set it on the surface of the desk, and then leaned down in her chair. She opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a large, framed picture of Harry Potter, resplendent in his Chudley Cannons Seeker uniform.

To Dr. Wu, the World's Best Therapist, the autograph in the corner of the photo read. Thanks for all the help. Sincerely, Harry Potter.

Dr. Wu fondly remembered the days of having Harry Potter in her office:

"I appreciate all the help with this Voldemort stuff, but I don't think I know what you mean when you say 'Freudian Slip,'" Harry had said thoughtfully. "I really don't think I'm harboring any subconscious desire for a former childhood rival."

"Of course not, Mr. Potter," Dr. Wu had said patiently. "Harry Potter and his former rival Draco Malfoy want to shag each other senseless? Surely not! What utter rot! Perish the thought!"

And of course, what she really meant was: Damn, that'd be hot!


End file.
